SPAG BOL

"December, 1997. Harry assumes cooking duties on the Horcrux Hunt."

A/N: At some point on the canon Horcrux Hunt, Hermione makes spaghetti bolognese. Here, Harry makes it.

—

For a) my inherited talents in cooking and b) my ability to write complete nonsense on flights.

—

"Hey, Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I'm hungry and I've an idea."

"Oh, Lord help us all, because the only thing more dangerous than a Horcrux is Harry Potter with an idea." Hermione sat up in the lower bunk and recast the warming charms on the tent. "Alright, spill. This better be good."

"I want to raid a supermarket."

"Christ on a Routemaster, Harry. Why?"

"I need ground beef, tomato puree, garlic, carrots and celery, salt and pepper, pasta, and butter." He paused, scrunching his face up as he stared at the canvas of the tent. "I think that's it. Oh! We need cheese."

"You could literally have just said, 'I feel like spaghetti bolognese.' "

"Saying things straight up is so fifth year."

"You have problems."

"Thanks."

"D'you even know how to make it from scratch?"

" 'Course I do."

"How?"

"Dursleys made me."

"Oh." Hermione paused. "Why didn't you mention this before Ron buggered off?"

"Repressed trauma. Really sorry about that."

"Literally everything'd be better if you mentioned this even a week ago!"

"In my defence, I didn't even not think this through—the memories of all this cooking are only now coming back to me."

"What, as nightmares?"

"Huh? No, my nightmares are about our loved ones dying. Reliving being made to cook for the Dursleys under threat of punishment is now a happy dream, because it involves food."

"Right, you definitely need help."

"As if you're not hungry."

"Mm."

"So, raid a supermarket, yeah?"

"Yes, but not now at two in the morning." Hermione let herself fall back onto the thin mattress. "Goodnight, Harry."

" 'Night, Hermione."

—

Raiding a supermarket was surprisingly easy. All they needed was Harry's Invisibility Cloak and good timing to leave with a basket of everything they needed.

"Slipping the wad of tenners into the till was a nice touch."

"Technically," said Hermione as they prepared to Disapparate under the Cloak, "still shoplifting."

"I learnt from—OK, not the best, but I picked up some basics from competent amateurs."

"Who taught you how to shoplift?"

"Learnt by observing my cousin stealing wine."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, so that's why you wanted to add wine to the recipe."

"No! Wine makes it taste better."

—

"You know," said Harry lightly as he minced garlic on a chopping board that Hermione had conjured using a knife that Hermione had also conjured, "the longer I spend in this godforsaken world, the more I appreciate having grown up around Muggles—generally, that is, not with my aunt and uncle specifically."

"How so?"

" 'Purer' thinking would say that we ought to just use magic to do the prep work, but as we've discovered, it's just not the same."

"Mrs Weasley does it, though," said Hermione, prodding her wand at her blue everlasting fire to try to make it hotter. "She just points her wand at a pile of potatoes and they come flying out of their skins."

"She's a pro. We're not."

"Good point."

"Alright, the garlic's ready, so I can start cooking. Could you look after the pasta?"

"Sure." Hermione frowned at the pot of pasta. "This'll take a while, though."

"I s'pose we could try to cheat by using warming charms on the water."

"That doesn't break any laws governing the workings of magic that I know of."

"Excellent. I don't think there's a specific charm to, er, 'gently sautee the vegetables in the butter, taking care not to burn it,' so I'll be doing this bit the old-fashioned way."

"It's a bit like Potions, isn't it?"

"Without the giant-nosed bat."

"True."

"Lot of simmering though."

"So, totally like Potions."

—

"Hermione, I think it's done." Harry took a spoonful to taste, letting the surprisingly rich flavour of the sauce sit on his tongue. "Mm, it's not bad. Try some."

Hermione did so. "Wow, this is good!"

"Excellent." Harry conjured two plates. "Let's get into this."

"Harry, these are the sort of paper plates we got at parties as children."

"Yes."

Hermione just sighed.

—

Some hours later, Harry and Hermione were both struggling to stay awake through a shared food coma, feeling far fuller and happier than they had ever been since leaving the safety and warmth of London.

"Hey, Harry?"

"Mm-hm?"

"Piece of advice for you if we ever get out of this mess alive."

"What is it, Hermione?"

"Win a girl's heart through her stomach."

"Oh."

"Yeah. That was some good spag bol." Hermione chuckled lightly. "Don't you dare forget you can cook ever again."

—

FIN